Well, what’s a girl to do? The talking dog gave me this time machine he said was guaranteed to work. Then again, he’s a talking dog. Oh, well; at least he wasn’t sending subliminal message like that dog that was talking to that son of Sam, or whatever his name was. Well, that’s what the talking dog told me. No, I’m not mad; he’s a trained poodle from the best shows at Westminster, honest, I swear by my Devil’s dictionary which hasn’t even been published yet (The talking dog picked it up in his travels).

      So here I am stuck in 1893 and I guess you’re wondering, how on Queen Victoria’s green earth can I get on this thing called the internet? Well, I’ll tell you; The talking dog hooked me up to this strange machine that can help me communicate on this special paper known as a word document and he posts it in his future world; or at least that’s what he tells me. I wonder if he’s pulling my leg? Well, he is peeing on it- Stop, talking dog! What do you think I am, a fire hydrant?

     So we’re busy trying to get this time machine to work. I’ll be back once we get it up and running. In the meantime- Talking Dog! Stop humping my leg, you beast!